


Strangled by Our Coveting

by candesgirl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Innuendo, M/M, One Shot, Short, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/pseuds/candesgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal claims Will; blood, body, and mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangled by Our Coveting

**Author's Note:**

> First Hannibal fic, super short and vaguely graphic, maybe sort of abstract. Caused by wine, repeated watchings of the first few episodes, and Tool. I'm not sorry.

Darkness, warm and wet between his fingers, something like balm to his troubled mind. Fevered dreams and a certain longing gone, replaced with vivid life, beating in his hands; between his legs, longing of a different sort. 

It’s horrific in act, in its beauty and he wants, desperate for it - desperate for him. It calls to him, sounds like singing, ritualistic and glorious as it consumes him. Fingers dig into his skin, claw-like, enough to draw blood and its then he knows. He is the sacrifice.

He feels ripped apart, hot, drenched in sticky wetness. He aches where those fingers dig deeper into him, whines when they leave him, gasps when something sharper, deeper, warmer takes their place. Icy heat works its way down his spine as words spill forth - nonsensical whispers and noises until they are hushed away.

They fit - surely as he thought they would; as if ripped apart from one piece. Their jagged edges lock into place seamlessly and that’s when he knows he was wrong, he is not the sacrifice - he is the final piece of the puzzle.

Velvet covers him, soothes him, on his skin, in his ears, as he’s ripped further apart, tears open. Searing pain and glorious pleasure radiate through him, unbearable until its not, until he succumbs. He finds peace in this place, quiet but for a whisper.

‘My good Will,’


End file.
